


Love's Just Another Rhyme

by lady_ragnell



Series: Pornathon Entries 2012 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Prostitution, Team Gluttony, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nimueh gets a call from a woman who's anything but her typical client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Just Another Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Week Four of summerpornathon 2012, the Minor Characters challenge, and placed first in its group!
> 
> Title from "Going, Going, Gone" by Stars.

“I need to hire a … you. For tonight.”

Nimueh analyzes the voice on the phone. Female, posh, not her typical caller. “Sweetie, you do realize I’m the girl and not the receptionist, right? I’ve got a great guy on speed dial for--”

“Your ad says you’ll do either. Please, I--this was stupid.”

Normally she wouldn’t bother, she’d wait for the next john to call, but there’s something in this woman’s voice that makes her wonder. “Calm down, princess, just tell me where to go. You can even tell me what to wear if you want a special treat.”

For a second, she thinks she’s lost the customer, but then there’s a shaky inhale. “Wear anything, I don’t care. I’m at the Camelot Hotel, room 318.”

“I’ll be there. Half an hour, you know the going rate.” Nimueh pauses, wonders what this client wants, and takes a chance. “Touch yourself while you wait for me,” she adds, and hangs up.

*

With her tight leather jacket, short skirt, and too-large bag, Nimueh looks anything but respectable, and she half-expects to be Pretty-Womaned right out of the hotel even though it isn’t too upscale, but the receptionist just gives her a mild greeting when she asks to be let up to room 318. “She said she had a friend coming up. Molly Flanders, right?”

“That’s me.” She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Whoever her client is, at least she knows her literary whores. “You need my ID?”

The receptionist pretty obviously just wants to be reading whatever book she’s got hidden under the desk and barely even meets Nimueh’s eyes. “No, you’re fine.” Nimueh gives her a nod and heads for the elevator.

It takes a minute for her to get an answer when she knocks on the door, and she’s half-afraid she wasted a trip across London for a no-show when it swings open, revealing a flushed blonde too gorgeous to need a hooker wrapped up in an ivory satin robe. Nimueh smiles and fiddles with the zipper on her jacket, teasing at the fact that there’s just lace and skin underneath it. “You going to let me in?”

The woman steps aside, and Nimueh walks in and locks the door behind her.

The bed is rumpled and the TV is muted on some truly uninspired porn, and with any other customer Nimueh would ask if she was getting in the mood, but here she just flips off the TV and takes off her jacket in silence. She doesn’t turn around to see the reaction to her lack of shirt, although the intake of breath means there is one. If she pushes too hard, she’ll get kicked out, she can guess that much. “What should I call you? I’m Nim.”

“Yes, it said in the advert. I’m … it doesn’t matter. Can’t we just …” Nimueh turns around, shimmies her skirt to the floor so she’s left in underwear and heels, an impressive show if she does say so herself. The woman is hugging herself, eyes on the floor.

Nimeuh can’t let that stand. She wanders over and winds her arms around the woman’s neck to breathe in her ear. “We can do whatever you want, princess. I’m yours for the night.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then she relaxes into Nimueh’s hold. “Okay.”

“Good. You just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.” She lowers her voice to a purr. “Want me to eat you out? I can make you scream. Or I can use my fingers, or a vibrator, I brought some of those in my bag if you’d like to play, or--”

“Can I--” She stops, and Nimueh doesn’t have to be looking her in the face to know she’s blushing.

“You can do anything, sweetheart. Within reason.”

“Can I use my mouth?” Nimueh pulls back, a little more surprised than she should be, to find the client’s cheeks crimson but her eyes determined. “I want to … I want to get you off, I want you to teach me how to make it good. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Nimueh goes to the bed and climbs on, gives the woman her best encouraging smile. It feels rusty and false, but it does the job of making her client step a little closer.

“Could you sit at the edge of the bed?” She raises her eyebrows but does it, and she’s only a little surprised when the woman sinks to her knees between Nimueh’s spread legs. “Tell me when it’s good,” she says, voice breaking. “Make me make it good, okay?”

If anything, Nimueh’d expected hours of tender foreplay, touching and kisses and maybe some fingering at the end of it. She hadn’t expected the woman to go for her cunt like she’s starving for it, mouthing at her through the red lace, fingers clutched tight on Nimueh’s thighs, but it’s what she gets. It’s messy and desperate and Nimueh has to force her head away to get enough space to slide her pants off, and then there’s a tongue against her clit and the woman is fucking _whimpering_ for it, and it’s all Nimueh can do to wind her fingers in her pretty blonde hair and say “Oh, fuck, that’s it, right there, you’re so good, sweetheart, you’re so good.”

The woman gets her off once, twice, keeps pressing sloppy kisses to her cunt and breathing “Tell me it’s--tell me I’m--” and that’s when Nimueh stops her and pulls her onto the bed, holds her close and says “You’re a good girl, such a good girl, you’re _my_ good girl” and isn’t surprised when she breaks down sobbing.

*

“I’m Ygraine, and I’m getting married next week,” says the woman later, after Nimueh soothes her with kisses and gets her off with her fingers and holds her for a while even though she knows it’s a bad idea. “And I knew I had to do this once, I have to _know_ what I’m giving up.”

“Okay,” Nimueh says softly. She doesn’t have the right to ask questions.

“Thank you. You can go whenever, the money’s on top of the television.” Ygraine rolls away, still radiating misery.

Nimueh would love to be one of the whores from books and movies who leaves the money and her phone number on a hope and a prayer, but life doesn’t work that way. She needs the money, and Ygraine isn’t going to call her again, not if she’s getting married. That doesn’t mean she’s going to walk away. She settles in, reaches across the space between them so if Ygraine moves at all they’ll be touching. “Now you know what it’s like, then,” she whispers.

“Yes,” says Ygraine, and shifts just enough so Nimueh’s knuckles brush her spine. “Now I do.”


End file.
